


The Itty-Bitty Boutique

by PixelPax



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Bitty!OC, Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Sans | Dream (Undertale), Errortale Sans (Undertale), F/M, Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Inktale Sans (Undertale), Multi, OC gets turned into a bitty, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suggestive Themes, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Transformation, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), What Have I Done, because for some reason it fascinates me, bitty!reader, but it's kinda temporary, exploring bitty society, in the case of other bitties, its just tagged that way for ease of access sorry!, not actually a reader fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelPax/pseuds/PixelPax
Summary: Hattie's used to getting the short end of the stick. She just wasn't expecting it to be so literal this time.As it turns out, life in miniature comes with its own unique set of dangers: threat displays, social hierarchies, a whole new bitty-sized society to learn to navigate and, worst of all, cats.("We at The Itty-Bitty Boutique pride ourselves in fostering a fun, happy and healthy environment for all our rehabilitating and ready-to-adopt bitties. Should it take your fancy, please come on in and see what we have to offer. We promise a life-altering experience!")
Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Original Female Character(s), Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Original Female Character(s), Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	The Itty-Bitty Boutique

**Author's Note:**

> Ah-ha, okay, so I got caught up on the bitty train and my muse decided basically 'fuck it, we're doing one'. This is going to be just a fun little side project I'm gonna be working on while I try and finish my other undertale work, so updates are gonna be entirely dependent on how I feel I guess?
> 
> Either way, this should be fun!
> 
> Hope you enjoy, everyone! XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are three things you should probably know about Harriet Mortensen:
> 
> 1) She prefers to go by her nickname.
> 
> 2) She is very, very broke.
> 
> 3) She is not meant to be four inches tall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (((Sorry, but this is a very description-heavy chapter to start off with! I'll be trying to spread it out a little more evenly over future chapters, so don't worry too much.)))
> 
> Possible TW (maybe, I don't know but just in case): mentions of freezing, hints towards poverty

The Itty-Bitty Boutique always, _always_ stuck out somehow.

It was like a highlighter in a pack of pencils or a gold coin at the bottom of a lint-lined handbag; where the rest of the street melted into the frozen white-grey of winter, the boutique stood apart. It was bright, abrasive, alluring and it didn’t seem to matter how much she tried to ignore it or pretend it didn’t exist, it was always on at the back of her mind, a single and infuriating constant she couldn’t ever hope to shake.

Not for lack of trying, mind you.

Droves of awed-looking customers huddled under the emporium’s snow-dusted awning like emperor penguins sheltering from the cold (pink and white striped like a piece of hard candy, deliciously tempting in the _worst_ possible way). Laughter and dull music and giddy chatter rolled playfully across the snow towards her. Some of the customers, she noted with a horrid pang of envy, had little figures already clinging to their winter hoods or playing in the plump snow poffs by their feet.

She had never wanted to jump ship so desperately in all her life.

“Harriet!”

Hattie squeaked and whipped around, clutching her loose leaflets like a shield. It was useless- Vivienne’s stare was sharp enough to pierce obsidian on a good day- but it did give her a nice false sense of security. Emphasis on the false.

“Oh, Viv! Hi! I was just... uh... uh...?”

Her cheeks were burning red in a way that definitely wasn’t from the cold as she floundered for some excuse. It was too late, though: her executioner was too quick to trick. Hattie couldn’t help blanching as thin, piercing grey eyes landed on the far-too-thick mound of hand-outs cradled in her arms. They immediately narrowed, dull and grey and downcast with the weight of far too many sleepless nights.

If she had to describe it, she'd say her co-worker’s expression was some distinct flavour of: 'you have got to be kidding me'.

“Seriously?” Vivienne hissed. With a haughty flick of her hair, she leant over and yanked half of Hattie’s pile into her own empty hands. “Would you please stop gawking and start handing out flyers? We’ve got a job to do and the quicker we get this done, the quicker _I_ get the hell out of here and the quicker _you_ go back to obsessing over your bitties. I do not need to catch hypothermia because you don't want to do your job.”

She did have a point.

Hattie sighed and reluctantly turned back to her work, tugging a damp sheet from her diminished stack and brandishing it blindly at a group of passers-by. Predictably, they gave her a wide berth. Less predictably, she caught a glimpse of a small, bone-white grin glinting at her from the depths of one woman’s hair and had to tear her eyes away before she got caught up in bitty fascination again.

She could feel her co-worker’s gaze hard and heavy on her back even as she mumbled, “I’m not obsessed. I’m just… really, _really_ passionate, okay?”

Vivienne snorted.

“‘Really passionate’? Is that why you stare at literally every single bitty that comes into the diner? Or why you get distracted every time we move within 50 feet of that shop?”

“Yes?" An embarrassed cough caught in Hattie's throat as she thrust another leaflet into a reluctant-looking woman’s hand. ”And it’s not _every_ time. They’re just so cute I can’t help it! And they’re just so fascinating, too. Like, did you know that all the original models- the Sansy’s and Papy’s- were all based off two actual monsters! I mean, how crazy cool would it be to have an actual mini version of yourself walking around?”

“So crazy cool.”

”You don’t _sound_ like you think it would be crazy cool.”

”That’s because I was being sarcastic, Harriet.”

"Oh. Yeah, I knew that! I was just... uh..."

Hattie fumbled, fingers burning in the cold and cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Vivienne looked about ready to throw up her hands in exasperation. Either that or strangle someone. It was a very thin line she walked most days.

”Look, you clearly love them, so just go and adopt one! It’d save me from having to watch you staring at that shop every day like you’re some eight-grader with a high school crush instead of doing your job."

"I'm not that bad," she mumbled. Vivienne, whose lips were starting to look a little too blue to be healthy, levelled her with a look and she flushed despite herself.

"Yes, you are. And before you tell me they wouldn't let you take one home, let me tell you that they’re literally _always_ looking for new adopters; it’s not like they’d reject you. Besides, you’re _you._ You’re about as unthreatening and inoffensive as a fish.”

Hattie, chewing on her lower lip and flourishing papers into thin air, hesitated.

“Okay, but I’m also kind of…”

Devastatingly broke? Close to getting thrown out onto the streets if she didn’t start raking in some cash? Barely able to support herself, let alone a whole another person?

See, it would’ve been nice if it were as easy as just going up and asking to adopt. It wasn’t. All she could think of were the eviction notices piling up on her doormat, the pitifully empty fridge, and the eternal lack of heating system that always left her with a ratty blanket bound around her shoulders to stave off the shivers. It wasn’t the kind of home environment that would be safe- or good- for a bitty. It wasn’t even safe for _her_.

But she couldn't say any of that. She was absolutely fine! She was always fine and she didn't want to worry people for stupid reasons. Vivienne probably had more than enough on her shoulders without Hattie butting in with her own sob story- which really wasn't all that sob-worthy when it came down to it.

“You’re kind of…?” Vivienne prompted, eyebrows raised.

“Well, I’m still waiting for my next pay-check.” Cheeks frigid with ache from the cold, Hattie forced on a bright and impassable grin. "I can’t have time for bitties if all my days are spent handing out leaflets in the middle of snowstorms. They’d freeze before the end of their first week! I think I’m about ten minutes away from becoming a human popsicle.”

Vivienne didn’t fall for it- she never did. Hattie could see that ever-permanent glimmer of scepticism lurking behind her frosted glasses. But even then, she always seemed to know when to pick her battles and this one was one Hattie never lost. 

She rolled her eyes to the snow flurries in the sky.

“Fine, don't tell me then. Let’s just get rid of the rest of these and report back before your poor little fingers drop off. It’s not like we get paid to stand around and look pretty.”

Hattie smiled (not in relief, she told herself. Just in warmth). This time, it felt real.

 _“Ohhh,_ I was wondering what that pay rise was for.”

Vivienne snorted. “Shut up and get back to work, you narcissist.”

The day ended about as well as expected: with about ten dozen flyers still in their possession, snow up to their ankles and fingers slowly fading from pink to ivory-white in the chill. Night fell in slowly, ushering away wandering townsfolk and bringing in the nightlife with it, leaving Hattie and Vivienne to make a hasty retreat as the real cold started to set in.

Sullivan’s Diner shone warm and bright; a winter beacon in the dark. Hattie stood in the golden glow of the open side door, blowing clouds of mist from her lips and watching it swirl as she hopped up and down for warmth.

She loved the snow.

It was quiet and unassuming, pretty and never demanding. It was pure nostalgia in weather-form, memories of snowballs clenched in little fists, branches trailing lines behind her, ice in her hair and her mouth as she swished angels into the ground.

Now, in the warmth of the open diner door, it glittered lazily under her feet and she entertained herself for a few precious minutes by drawing patterns in the slush with the toe of her boot- a smiley face, a flower, a snowflake, a waving little skeleton in a hat and scarf. The last one had her giggling quietly to herself.

It was nice to dream, even if it was never going to happen.

(She tried not to think about what waited for her at home; an arctic apartment, ice-water leaking through the windows and freezing the locks shut. Blankets and pillows that were probably miserably damp with the cold. It would probably be another long and sleepless night to add to the diary but it was always better than dying from hypothermia out on the street. Right here and now, the snow was pretty and that was more than enough for her.)

“You sure do like those lil’ things.”

A bemused southern lilt had her turning.

It always surprised her just how quiet Sullivan could be when he wanted. He was a bear of a man, the literal and living embodiment of a gentle giant. It looked like the rebellious side of his youth had tried to claim him at some point- a tangled beard, sleeves of greying tattoos, and numerous face-piercings. Crow's feet crinkled towards temples and there were two steaming cups of coffee in his burly, lumberjack hands as he smiled at her.

It took her a full second to realise he meant the bitty drawing by her feet and she shuffled, cheeks heating self-consciously. Wow, she really wasn’t good at being subtle, was she? Vivienne was right: maybe she _was_ a little too obsessed.

“Just a little,” she blurted sheepishly and he chuckled.

“Hey, I like ‘em a lot too. The lil’ fire ones are pretty awesome. I’ve been seeing a lot of those lately. I guess people like ‘em because of the weather. What are they called again? Lil’ Bits? Bittens?”

“Bitties,” she answered automatically and before she knew it, there was a bright smile staining her cheeks. It hurt more than it probably should have done (the cold was finally getting to her) but pain was an afterthought when she got to talk about her favourite subject. “The fire ones were probably Grillbitties. Most of them are fire types.”  
  
Sully nodded, looking oddly contemplative as he sipped at his coffee.

“That so?”  
  
”Mhmm, and they’re also meant to be great in the kitchen. They’re kind of calm and quiet so they’re good choices for people working in high-stress environments like restaurants or even diners. They could probably help out in the back with keeping the food warm, or help take orders, or maybe even just help earn a few more tips?”

He sent her an odd, bemused look. She smiled innocently.

“…I know what you’re tryin’ to do.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered unconvinced but she took victory in the way his gaze shifted just a little over her shoulder, thoughtful and considering. "I guess it _would_ be nice to have a bit o’ company sometimes…”

“Really?!” Hattie beamed at him, barely restraining herself from fist-pumping when she saw the smile twitching beneath the snarl of his beard.

She’d always thought her boss would be a great Grillbitty owner; both were strong, silent types with a love of food and good service. (Her excitement had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was practically guaranteeing herself daily, personal contact with a bitty by proxy. Definitely not.)

“Jesus, stop it with that look," Sully snickered. "You ain’t convinced me yet, so you can stop lookin’ all smug.”

Hattie wiped the glee lickety-split from her face- pointless because it bounced back just as quickly and just as impervious.

"I’m just happy for you! I’m not always gonna be around and it’ll be good for you to have someone to take care of you when I’m not there to light up your life.”

Sully looked entirely too amused by her cajoling. “I’m an old man, darlin’, nothing lights up my life anymore. But sure, if it makes you feel any better, I just hate it when you’re not there to spill my good coffee all over honest customers.”

“I’ve only done that a few times!” He raised an eyebrow at her and Hattie grinned sheepishly. “Uh... And you're not _that_ old.”

Sully snorted but didn't dispute it.

They stood together in the quiet for a minute longer and watched the last stretch of snowfall drift and settle, untouched and pure. It was the calm sort of quiet, the nice sort strung up between old friends where you could just sit and think for a moment and bask in each other's company.

Eventually, Sullivan sighed. It was an old, breathy and weary sort of sigh that had her glancing at him almost in concern.

“Thank you, Harriet,” he said simply and it was so serious and genuine and so very unlike him that she blinked. He never called her by her name like that.  
  
”What for?”  
  
”For helping me with the flyers- with the diner. Hell, for everything. I know it ain’t the nicest or best-paying job in the city and it might not come up to jack-shit anyway but...”

Hattie smiled kindly. “I'm just doing my job. You don't need to thank me for any of it.”

”Your job's meant to be serving and jotting down orders and occasionally dropping coffees when you've gotten distracted by somethin'," he snorted. "It ain’t supposed to be freezing yourself to death just to try and bring in a lil' more business.”

"I volunteered to do it," she reminded him with a warm smile and a shrug, "but you're welcome anyway. Besides, it'll all be completely worth it when you've got half the city knocking down your doors next week just to get a taste of those legendary burgers of yours.”

Sully’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his head as he shooed her away from the front steps.

“You're gonna make me sick with that kind of optimism, girl. Go on and get yourself home, already.” He was smiling though, cheeks ruddy and warm under her admiration and Hattie giggled tiredly as she ducked an over-sized hand.

“I can't! I’m still waiting for Viv. We’re meant to be walking back together. Did you see her back there? She said she’d only be a minute…”

Sully’s humorous grin abruptly faltered. She watched, curious and confused as her boss’ expression turned suddenly morose and knowing. It wasn’t an expression she saw very often and somehow, she already knew what he was going to say.

“Ah, uh... Sorry, darlin’, but I think you just missed her. She must’ve gone out the front.”

 _Again,_ was what he didn’t say.

She wasn't exactly surprised, she tried to tell herself. More disappointed. The kind of disappointment that spiralled into something hard and heavy that rolled around in her stomach and landed somewhere down at her feet among the ice, snow and melting sketches. It didn't matter how many smiles she tried to hide it under, it would always be there but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pretend otherwise- for Sully's sake, at least.

“Oh... Okay." Hattie smiled- it was stiff but it was there- and waved dismissively. It didn't matter, she told herself. It wasn't important. "She probably just forgot. I’ll just have to remind her next time.Guess I should get going before I turn to ice on your porch, right?"

She tried to laugh but it fell flat and felt hollow. Sully knew it as well as she did. 

“You’re too kind to that woman, sweetheart,” he muttered gruffly.

“There’s no such thing as being too kind. Besides, she’s a friend.” As soon as she said it, Sully’s expression became pained. “What? What did I say?”

He paused, looking oddly conflicted for a reason she couldn't place, but just shook his head. “Nah, it’s nothin’ much. I don’t like the idea of you walking on your own at this time of night though, 'specially not with all that snow. Couldn’t you just stay here for tonight?”

“And have Courtney all up on you for wasting her energy bills on me? I like you too much to do that to you,” she told him teasingly and the man grimaced, though she was surprised when even the mention of his belligerent ex-wife did nothing to soften his disapproving glare.

“Yeah, well the she can go suck an egg. Which way you headed anyway?”

”Up to Mason’s, down by Crescent.”

If anything, his expression darkened further. “That’s a mean part of town, girlie. Sure you don’t want to stay?”

“I’ll be _fine_! I’ve gone that way dozens of times and no-one’s jumped me yet.”

It was meant to be a joke, flippant and teasing, but Sully’s eyes flashed sternly. He sent her a disapproving, almost disbelieving look that had her grin dripping away into something a little sheepish.

“Just because no-one’s done it yet, doesn’t mean that they won’t,” he grumbled. “Do _not_ go tempting fate like that. She can be a real mean bitch when she wants to be, ‘specially to softies like you.”

“‘Softies’?” Her lips quirked. “Ever heard of the phrase: ‘pot calling the kettle black’?”

Just like that, normalcy had returned. The shadows melted from his eyes, replaced instead with a very familiar look that crossed somewhere between fondness and complete exasperation.

"Why do I even try?” he grunted, but it wasn’t without a reluctant smile. “Take this on your way back, okay?” He ushered one of the two steaming cups of coffee into her hands, waving away her refusals as easily as a giant throwing stones. “Oh, shush, just take it. And be careful on your way back. I don’t want to end up losing one of my hardest workers because she decided to tempt fate. I’d drop you off myself but…”

He gestured hopelessly to the diner and she didn’t need to glance past him to know that there was probably a pile of electricity bills and other important paperwork pieces he had to get to.

“You’re already saving my life, Sully,” she told him warmly. “See you bright and early tomorrow?”

“Same time as always. Now, get goin’ already. Time’s a-wasting.”

“Goodnight!”

With his eyes fixed on her back, gentle and knowing, Hattie quickly set off down the street, blowing steam from her mouth like a locomotive and leaving a trail of footprints in the slush behind her.

It was a nice coffee; warm but not too warm and with a hint of cinnamon sprinkled across the top. More than enough to urge the blood back into her fingers but somehow… not enough to dull the chill in her stomach as she walked.

(It wasn't loneliness, she told herself. It wasn't. She _liked_ being on her own. It was calming, relaxing even. Everything was fine. Everything would always be fine.)

With her coffee in hand and her practiced smile falling away with every step, Hattie started on the long and lonely road back towards home.

It was easy to spot the point where the suburbs and her side of the neighbourhood collided. Shiny, squeaky clean shop fronts melted away to ratty apartment blocks and dingy alleyways clogged with the stench of urine and smoke. Corners were littered with overflowing dumpsters and broken beer bottles (the remnants of impromptu drinking parties) and the street drains choked under moulting piles of leaves, ice and rot.

It was quieter than usual. Another reason to love snow, she mused happily as she tripped and slid along the sidewalk, was that it smothered everything in a blanket of immovable silence, dampening every sound. It got rid of all those couples giggling drunkenly into each other’s mouths and the sleazy strangers with cigarettes balanced between fingers and drugs in their pockets. There weren’t many people at all hanging around, most chased indoors by the glacial chill that tailed the sun as it set over the skyline.

It also meant that, for the first time in a long time, she could just enjoy herself. Enjoy the little things in life like she was so used to doing- like the snowflakes on her tongue… or the black ice hidden beneath her feet as she nearly careened onto her ass for the second or third time that day.

Hattie giggled and righted herself, dancing her way to a safe and snow-free spot on the pavement. Her fingers were freezing and her lips were probably turning blue but her chest was warm now- her loneliness pushed aside for just a moment- and her smile was real.

It was almost nice.

And then she caught a glimpse of the familiar, pink and white awning of her arch-nemesis and every good feeling fizzled and died.

Strangely, The Boutique looked no less warm and inviting than it did in the day. The windows were dark and shuttered and the main displays hidden out of sight but there were slivers of warm, gold light slipping through the bent metal slats to settle on the pavement and sparkle in the snow. She could see tiny, animated shadows slipping back and forth busily in the rays, bouncing around with no cares in the world and hear the tiny murmurs and clatters of small people moving about.

It was always bit of a mystery.

What happened to the bitties when the lights went out? Did the workers stay to take care of them? Were there shifts or did they just live above the shop for ease-of-access? Or was it like a pet store where you kind of left it as is and hoped it didn’t all go to chaos somewhere in the middle of the night?

Hattie considered the shop curiously.

It wouldn’t hurt to have a quick peek... right?

With a quick glance up and down the eerily empty street, she crept curiously over to the display window and tried to peer through the little gaps in the shutters. Disappointment hit first when she realised there were no bitties close enough for her to see but what she could see were several lines of little labelled products strung up in the front. Their tags dangled invitingly and she tilted her head to get a better look… and immediately regretted.

Twenty dollars for a little blue hoodie, thirty for a polished armour set, _sixty for the bathtub with a heated floor_?!

“Why is that so much worse than I thought it’d be?!” she hissed to herself faintly.

I mean, she knew it had to be expensive but that was just pushing it to another extreme! Bitties had it better than she did!

Hattie could feel holes burning into her empty, moneyless pockets. She tore away from the display and dug her fingers into the ratty depths of her coat, suddenly a lot more miserable than she had been a minute ago.

It hurt.

She adored the idea of having a bitty of her own; a little friend to accompany her through every trifle and tribulation; someone to stay with when walking down the icy, dim-lit roads at unearthly hours of the night when Vivienne forgot to. Just… having someone. She liked that idea. But it wouldn’t happen- it couldn’t. Bitties needed to live in a good home and good homes weren’t meant to have leaks in the ceilings or faulty wiring in the light switches or heating systems that didn’t work.

Her heart was clenched tight in her fist and a spark of determination flickering hotly in her chest as she strode off down the road. She’d do it somehow. She didn’t know how, but she would.

And it was at that exact moment, about thirty feet from the front doors of The Itty-Bitty Boutique, that everything changed.

She heard him before she saw him.

Heavy, crunching footsteps sped towards her through the snow from behind. It was a startling sound that tore across the eerily silent blanket of snow and sent a sudden streak of ice and anxiety rippling down her spine- the sound of someone skidding and sprinting as fast as they possibly could across the ice.

She squeaked, whipped around and brought up her arms in preparation for some kind of attack.

“Wha-”

_“Shit!”_

And then something thick and heavy collided with her front.

Hattie went tumbling with a ragged scream of surprise. Her coffee soared from her hands, soaking the snow beside her in a dark and steaming mess, but she barely had the chance to mourn before her feet slipped out from under her and her hands and backside met the floor with a hard crunch.

She felt her stomach jolt the moment she dropped like a rock and a shock of hard pain rocketed up her spine and down her elbows. That was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the full-body shudder that went through her from her blue-tinged fingers right down to her toes. Oh, her pants were _soaked._

There was ice crunching between her fingers as she pushed herself up in the snow. It burned the way ice tended to- raw and piercing- and she hurriedly wiped her digits on her coat to get the warmth back. No luck.

Shaking her head and extracting herself from the sludge, Hattie glanced around for whatever truck had just hit her.

It took her a little bit to make him out among the white. For a second she wondered whether she’d just imagined him but no, there he was: a man strewn across the floor, face-first in the snow with an ivory overcoat draped over his shoulders. He was panting like he’d just run the hardest marathon of his life and there was something metal and shiny clutched in his hand.

Hattie shoved herself to her fees and immediately flitted over. Her boots crunched miserably in the snow as she rubbed circles into her arms for warmth. (It gave her fingers something to do other than drop off, at least.)

“A-Are you okay? That was a pretty nasty f-fall,” she called, voice shivering. The stranger let out a moan that was muffled by the ground.

“Ngh…”  
  
”O-Okay, so that’s a n-no?” Hattie couldn’t help but laugh just a little, a stuttering and apologetic sort of thing as she picked her way across the road towards him. “Hold on, I’m c-coming!”

Or, at least, that’s what she tried to do.

Except that the moment she took that first step, the world tilted.

Cold.

Everything was so cold.

It was like some secret, biological switch had just been hit. A drunken haze threw itself like a screen across her eyes, dragging down on her limbs and dulling out the chill that should have sunk straight through her shabby coat to her bones. She felt like a puppet with its strings all knotted together; her feet tried to move but gave out from under her. Her upper limbs jerked out of control.

It took her a second to move again, except it was sluggish and hindered and everything was just _so cold._

She was on the floor. When had she fallen? Why?

Unimportant. Focus on making legs work first.

Hattie shook it from her head and pushed herself back to her feet- or she tried to. Like a bow of a ship in the middle of a storm, the world beneath her pitched and plunged. Bile, sour and acrid and burning, gathered at the back of her throat and she felt her knees go weak. She barely made it even a few feet off the ground before she was nose-down in the snow again.

What… What was happening?

Somewhere almost distant, she heard the rustles and grunts of someone picking themselves up off the ground. Unlike her, they must’ve been successful because there was a gasp and the smushing of snow underfoot as the stranger rushed to her side.

“Oh, god!” the man gasped. He was shaking, stuttering, almost horrified.

She tried to look up but the nausea forced her back down. It was like the earth was rotating around her as she lay still.

Her head felt so heavy and her eyes kept sliding shut without her permission. It was like her whole body was shutting down on her; her muscles ached and refused to move, her heartbeat was slow and deafening in her ears and it was suddenly so, _so_ hard to just… _breathe._

Had he drugged her?

Queries died on her tongue, muffled against lips that didn’t feel like they belonged to her anymore.

It was the only thing that made sense. But then why put his hands on her back like that? It was gentle and hesitant, almost like he was afraid she’d crumble to dust at the slightest piece of physical contact.

“I’m so s-sorry! I wasn’t looking- I wasn’t- _stars!_ Oh, no, no, no-”

 _Oh,_ she thought dazedly, _it was just an accident. That wasn’t so bad, then._

Her broken brain didn’t know what had him so freaked out for a good long second until she saw the darkness pooling beneath her, dripping from her chest to land in a puddle under her frosted fingers.

Blood.

It was wet and stark, shiny and crimson and so very fresh against the snow that the sheer smell of it stung her nose and coiled in her lungs. There wasn’t a lot of it and it might’ve been pretty at some other time; dark, dark, darker, so much so that it was more black than red, staining and running in rivulets through the ivory ice like the veins of a tree.

But it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t even scary, it was just sort of… _there._ It was there and it was wrong and she found that she couldn’t even care anymore.

“O-Oh…” was all Hattie managed.

And then she crumpled.

It was safe to say that Hattie knew pain; she knew falling over and scraping her knee on the playground’s gravel pit, breaking her arm on a tree branch that splintered beneath her. She knew paper cuts, bruises and the aches that came from waking up day after day on an unforgiving mattress; the throb of scalding coffee as it spilt across her fingers. Agony, though- that was new. New and very, _very_ unwelcome.

It _burned._ Hotter than anything she’d ever felt before. It was like fire at first but then ice, blistering hot and biting cold. It wracked all the way through from her head to her toes, pain of the sharp and biting kind that had her bones rattling under her skin and her lungs spasming as she tried silently to scream, breath, shout- anything!

But her body refused to move.

She could taste salt and blood on her lips and almost gagged when another wave of nausea and fresh agony stabbed at her. Her thrashing heartbeat screamed bloody murder in her ears, loud and desperate and inescapable.

 _Oh, I… I’m going to die,_ she realised dazedly. _I’m going to die and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it._

“Shit,” the man sobbed above her. “Oh, shit, shit, _shit!_ I’m sorry! God, I am so sorry. I can’t- I don’t know how to-”

Clammy fingers danced across her abdomen, her head, her hands, the pulse point in her neck. She barely felt it. There was a rough, hiccupy sort of breathing in her ears and the rustle of something long and heavy like a coat. She tried to squint up at him but there was only black. It was then that she realised he’d draped something over her eyes to stop her from looking.

Clever.

Hattie felt the sudden, very strange urge to laugh.

 _Gods,_ _I’ve just been killed on accident_ , she wanted to giggle but it gurgled and died on her lips. The poor man just clutched at her fingers, shaking and shuddering with sobbed apologies.

Vaguely, she heard herself apologising- what for, she couldn’t tell. Trauma, maybe? She didn’t want him to be traumatised. Part of her wanted to reach up and gently pat him on the back just so she could tell him that it was okay.

Everything was fine.

Everything was always fine.

Darkness swam up to meet her, a fuzzy over-taking sort of darkness that wandered slowly over her like a murmur of cold breeze on a warm summer day or the swish of a curtain falling across an open stage. It was unsettling at first, but it chased away the pain and Hattie fell into it gratefully, the choked murmurs of her murderer in her ears.

And for a long time, the world was quiet.

She was warm but not the nice kind of warm. This was sticky and unpleasant and it clung like a musty second skin she couldn’t shake.

There was an ache there under all the haze and the blank confusion as she came to. It lingered not in her muscles and her bones but somewhere deeper. Deep, _deep_ down inside of her chest, clawing at an unreachable part of her. It stung at first like a primal instinct or urge but when she closed her eyes and felt for it, she could feel it slipping and waning like water trickling from the cracks in an overflowing wine glass.

It was almost impossible to describe; strange and alien.

With all the subtlety of a wound-up baseball bat to the face, it all came rushing back to her.

Hattie’s eyes flew open and she sprung up. Immediately, a by-gone rush of vertigo had her stomach churning and she bit down on the urge to be violently sick.

“What just…? How am I…?”

It hurt to speak. Her throat felt raw and torn open as if someone had raked sandpaper down it but it hurt more to move. She was trembling as she careened onto hands and knees- or was it gasping- and there were tears- or was it sweat- dripping from her cheeks to land on shivering hands.

Something felt wrong and she didn’t know how she knew. Everything felt off-kilter; plain wrong like someone had struck an off-key on the piano or chased a nail down a chalkboard.

But that didn’t matter right now. That was the very last concern on her list because somehow, despite everything, she was _alive_ and… and…

A caress of night breeze had her shivering and for a moment, she didn’t register anything as too out of place. But the moment she glanced down at herself, a well of horror and freak bewilderment poured like ice down her spine.

She had no clothes on.

 _…why did she have no clothes on?!_  
  
Not dead and very naked. Admittedly, it was a step above being not _alive_ and very naked but it was a minor step at best.

With a heave that took so much more energy than it should have, Hattie pushed herself to her feet. There was something unbelievably heavy draped across her shoulders and it was dark wherever she was. Very dark and very red and very soft against her bare back like the moth-bitten shirt she’d been wearing that morning.

It was a herculean struggle to push it off. Somehow, she did it and careened to her feet, panting and swaying on calloused, icy toes. 

She was still outside and it was still freezing and it smelt terrible, that much she knew. But where the hell was she? This wasn’t even the same street.

It was an alley, full of snow and dumpsters and gurgling pipes fixed to mossy brick walls. There was no sign of the man in the long white overcoat.

For some strange reason, the world looked completely out of balance. It felt like she was stood on a raised platform except that it was much too high and she felt much too small.

There was some kind of soggy cardboard beneath her which took her off guard for a second. Cardboard and… a pair of jeans? She frowned and tried to dig for the jeans but they wouldn’t budge. The material felt thicker and heavier and much larger in-hand than it should have been and after several minutes of useless tugging, she gave up and abandoned it to the mess beneath her and just threw her arms around her waist in an attempt to keep warm.

Hattie took a few cautious steps towards the edge of the platform, noting the squish of the mix-match materials beneath her as she moved.

Why did everything look so... big? Something felt horribly wrong and her brain wasn’t fixed enough to figure out what it was. The closer she got to the edge of her sanctuary, the quicker she started to realise just _how_ wrong everything was.

Little things started to come together in the bewildered, chilled and pie-eyed mush that was her broken brain. Like the padlocked backdoor across the way that looked several hundreds of feet too tall. Or the flurries of snow that stood on either side of her so much higher than ankle-level.

She felt so far off the ground it didn’t make sense until she peered over the edge of her platform and felt her stomach drop.

“What the- _How?!”_

Somehow, the floor was so far away it made her tired head spin. It was a fifty-feet drop at least. Except that it didn’t make _any_ sense!

The buildings towering over her looked like they were the right size, though maybe just a little taller than normal. The door felt bigger than normal but it was still just a door. Everything seemed like it should have been fine, except that…

Hattie turned, hunched and shivering.

Her heart almost stopped.

The platform she was standing on was littered- absolutely _littered_ with trash. Compressed cardboard boxes, crushed metal cans with their tops pierced, candy bar wrappers split open, pieces of plastic food containers and other selective pieces of junk.

That wasn’t what had her stopping, though. She froze because it was all _wrong_.

It was like her mental camera was on a close-up zoom shot and her brain didn’t know how to correct it.

The cans were bigger than she was. Bottle tops and loose buttons and empty wrappers were all about half her size and when she looked down, she found herself suddenly recognising the snow-soaked jeans beneath her, looking so much larger than they should have done. Those were _her_ jeans and that- the crumpled red shirt that she’d shoved off off herself a second before- was _her_ shirt. And were those her boots sticking out from under that trash bag?

It was as if her clothes had suddenly up and outgrown her while she was unconscious. But that was impossible and really, it was more like…

Well, it was almost like she’d been shrunk.

Hattie stared.

_Oh… Oh, no._

She scrambled to the edge of the cardboard platform, heart thudding and feet slipping. “Hello? Hello, can…. can anyone hear me?! Is there anyone out there? _Hello?!_ ”

It felt like hours of her yelling into empty snow and dark, trying desperately to pretend like she hadn’t just found herself lying in a dumpster among a pile of giant, bloodied clothes that had once been hers. Like she hadn’t just been miniaturised and left for dead on accident.

Nobody came.

Even so, she kept yelling until her throat turned hoarse and raw. She kept screaming until she felt her spirit finally start to sag, begging for whatever nightmare this was to _end._

Maybe she’d finally done it; she’d finally broken herself from the stress and the lack of sleep and the overworking. It was impossible to shrink, after all. Yes, that made a lot more sense than some weird shrinking theory. She was just going crazy.

Everything was so cold and Hattie…

Hattie was just so tired.

She retreated back to the worn, bloody shirt and curled up half under it with a shivering sigh, struggling to keep her eyes open. Never in her life had she felt so desperate to return to her freezing, rickety apartment with the far-too-sleazy landlord and the rats crawling in the walls.

It was just… so cold.

Somewhere deep in her crazy-baked brain, Sully’s words echoed back to her and she suddenly wanted to smile. Her face was too frozen but it was the thought that counted, she supposed.

_So I guess this is what he meant by tempting fate, huh?_

And that was just about all she managed to think as, for the second time that day, she gladly let herself be taken by unconsciousness.


End file.
